


Food For Thought

by synonomy



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkwardness, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Social Anxiety, Sub!Frank, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonomy/pseuds/synonomy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, okay, Gerard has a crush on the hot guy who works at Subway. No big deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Food For Thought

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrankIero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankIero/gifts).



> Inspired by [**this**](http://frerardporn.tumblr.com/post/48683281296/omg-an-au-where-frank-works-at-subway-and-tries-to).

When Gerard gets a job in the city, he's forced to rethink his eating habits.

Before he left school he'd always brought his lunch from home, but a week into his properly adult job in which he works proper daily shifts for a (almost) proper adult wage, he kind of figures he should probably stop letting his mom make his food. The Cartoon Network building is across the road from a row of shops, and venturing outside the building on his lunch break to check out his options, the medium-sized Subway seems like the best choice. Gerard has always been a fan of instant gratification with the least amount of human interaction, so the kind of place where you have to order and wait wouldn't suit him. Plus, it's cheaper. There's a Domino's across the road from the Subway, too, and he's briefly tempted - but then he thinks of how the waistband of his jeans have been digging in a little lately, and decides against it.

It definitely turns out to be the right choice. When he walks in, the first thing he's struck by (after the usual panic and apprehension at how many people are in there, obviously) is one of the workers behind the counter. A short dude with long-ish dark hair and colorful tattoos all over his arms. As Gerard shuffles into line to order his food, he ends up spending more time looking at him than at the menu. Which also ends up turning into a huge problem for him when it's his turn to order.

"Hey, welcome to Subway," the guy says, smiling at him over the glass partition. He has really nice eyes and a nametag that says _Frank_. "What can I get you?"

"Uh," Gerard says elegantly. He tries to turn his attention to the signs overhead, but the words won't make sense. Restaurant jargon wriggles around in his brain, but he can't remember how to apply it, or form sentences. He's pretty sure he did have an idea of what he wanted before he came in, but it's long gone now. His palms feel kind of sweaty. He tries to surreptitiously wipe them on his jeans and calm down, breathing deeply like his therapist is always telling him to do. "Can I have, um."

"Having a hard time deciding?" Frank asks, and Gerard nods quickly, grateful of a way out. Frank hums understandingly. "Yeah, there are a lot of choices, right?"

"Yeah," Gerard says, trying to act like he's looking at the rainbow assortment of food behind the glass. "I can't really - well."

"Can I recommend you something?"

Dumbly, Gerard nods again, even though he can sense the impatience of the people in line behind him. He feels horribly anxious, but then Frank's turning around to point up to something on the board, his dark green polo shirt riding up a little, and Gerard can see that in addition to the ink covering his arms and hands, he has some on his hips, too. It looks like writing, some loopy font encircling his waist. Gerard wishes he knew what it said.

"The veggie option, man. It's the best." Frank turns back around, and Gerard snaps his eyes up, feeling himself flush. "Just choose whatever bread you want and I'll stuff it full of delicious greens for you. And you can have any sauce you like, though personally I'd have either the sweet chili or the Italian dressing." He smiles again, brilliant and bright. "Sound good?"

Gerard knows it's just Frank's job to be helpful, but he can't help but feel completely and utterly charmed. He smiles, too. "Yeah. I mean, okay. I'll have... the Italian bread. Just a six inch. Please."

Frank makes a little victorious noise, flashing him a thumbs-up with a transparent-gloved hand. "You won't regret it. Seriously, I don't know why people even have meat in their sandwiches. Like, a sandwich should be a death-free experience, y'know? Oh yeah, tell me if there's anything you don't like, okay?" He talks as he works, slicing through the bread and starting to fill it with the ease of someone who's already done it countless times.

"No peppers or onions," Gerard says automatically. The worker next to Frank gestures for the person behind him in line to come around him, and Gerard manages to relax a little. But only a little. "Uh, I take it you're a vegetarian, then?"

Frank pulls a face, eyes darting to a dude over by the register. Gerard can tell by his uniform that he's Frank's superior. "Yeah. But I'm not really supposed to - y'know, _promote my agenda_." He rolls his eyes as he slides Gerard's sub along the counter. " _God_ am I getting sick of hearing that. Anyway. Which sauce do you fancy?"

Gerard blinks. "The dressing, I guess."

"Italian all round, then," Frank says heartily, coating Gerard's salad extremely generously and grinning at him. "You have excellent taste, my good man."

Gerard can feel himself making a really stupid face, and he can't stop. He considers going back to the breathing exercise as Frank wraps up his food and walks him over to the register. He tells the superior guy Gerard's order and Gerard doesn't miss the raised eyebrow he shoots at Frank. Frank just shrugs at him, expression nonchalant, but when the guy sighs and turns away to start ringing Gerard up, Frank looks at Gerard and winks.

He fucking _winks_.

Gerard fumbles over his money, picks up his food and gets the hell out of there.

*

So, okay, Gerard has a crush on the hot guy who works at Subway. No big deal.

Except, it's really inconvenient. Gerard has this problem. A nervy problem. Namely, he gets nervous a lot, and it's a problem. He's been in therapy for most of his young adult life trying to learn how to deal with it, as well as all the other things wrong with his brain that do absolutely nothing to help him in situations like this. He can't just act like a normal person and have a crush on Frank and look forward to seeing him and maybe flirt a little bit, whatever, keeping it cool - because Gerard's brain just doesn't work like that. Gerard's brain likes to concern itself with _details_. Endless, painful agonizing over absolutely _everything_ , interweaved here and there with crippling self-consciousness. It really sucks.

He wants to go back immediately the next day, but in the end just gets too hung up on the idea that it's completely obvious; like somehow Frank would see him and know _why_ , so he doesn't. But the day after, he does give in.

"Oh, hi, again!" Frank says brightly as Gerard steps up to the counter. It's not as busy today, but Gerard still feels anxious anyway. "How was your veggie sub?"

"Yeah," Gerard says, because he's utterly useless. "I mean, it was good."

"Told you," Frank says smugly. "It's always great showing people the light." Gerard had actually got a couple of bites into his sandwich before really wishing it had something other than vegetables in it, but he's not going to tell Frank that. "What can I get for you today, then? Same again?" He smiles at Gerard - this wide, angelic quirk of the lips that lights up his whole face under the visor of his uniform cap.

"Sure," Gerard says helplessly, and Frank practically beams at him, reaching for the bread.

"No peppers or onions, right?" he asks, and Gerard nods, surprised he even remembers. He can't help but watch Frank's hands as he puts the sandwich together, eyeing the art sprawling over his forearms and elbows and disappearing up under his shirt sleeves. He's got letters on his knuckles that no doubt spell something; some gorgeous robed woman that Gerard suspects is a saint on his left forearm, but it's hard to see. He's dying to have a proper look and ask Frank about them, but he can't think of a way to comment on Frank's ink even casually without both looking _and_ feeling like a huge creep, so he keeps his mouth shut.

"You wouldn't last long in my family," Frank says, startling Gerard back to reality. He meets Gerard's eyes and grins, elaborating; "No peppers or onions. That _really_ wouldn't go down well in a house full of Italians. Though I suppose you do have the bread and the dressing, so maybe they'd let you off."

"I like cheese and pasta?" Gerard offers lamely, and is highly gratified when Frank laughs. It's high and free, almost a giggle. "I mean, uh. I'm actually half Italian, myself, so I don't really have an excuse."

"Oh yeah?" Frank says, uncapping the dressing bottle and practically drowning Gerard's lettuce. "Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking? You don't sound like a New Yorker."

"No," Gerard agrees. "I just work here. Commute from Jersey."

"Every day?" Frank asks, and then whistles incredulously when Gerard nods. "Shit, man. I'm from Jersey too, but I'm living here with friends for the moment. I can't imagine making that journey _every day_ , that must suck."

"Iero!" a voice suddenly barks. It's cash register dude from last time - a tall, scrawny dude with a face like a possum. He emerges from the door behind the counter and rests a hand on Frank's shoulder, leaning closer-- unnecessarily, because he doesn't lower his voice at all, "Less chatting and more work, please." He smiles at Gerard, showing too much teeth. "My apologies, sir. _Frank_ here is new to the team and keeps forgetting hungry customers don't really care about his life story."

Frank viciously shrugs his shoulder to dislodge the guy's hand, scowling at the floor as his face colors. Gerard feels his eyebrows narrow. "It's fine, thank you."

Cash register dude - his tag says his name is _Chad_ \- seems to ignore him, gesturing the couple of people waiting in line behind Gerard to the next workers. He catches sight of Gerard's sandwich and sighs loudly, tutting at Frank. "Oh, I hope he didn't coerce you into the _vegetarian_ option? It's policy here at Subway to allow the customer to choose absolutely any filling or combination they wish. Frank, don't you think you've given him a little too much dressing?"

"No, it's exactly as I wanted," Gerard says firmly. "He's been very helpful indeed."

Chad looks at him then, raising an eyebrow. His eyes flicker to Gerard's messy dyed-black hair, his baggy jeans and ink-stained T-shirt, and Gerard can practically _see_ the effort it's taking him to keep the distaste from showing on his face. "In that case, I'll let you finish your order," he says curtly, and moves away with a final muttered word to Frank which Gerard doesn't catch, but it makes Frank's lip curl almost into a snarl. Gerard feels immensely sympathetic. He's had asshole bosses before too, and he knows how much they can fuck you up; knock your already fragile confidence. Well, Frank probably isn't as pathetic about it as Gerard is, but he still feels for him.

"Sorry about that," Frank says gruffly, finishing Gerard's order with sharp, efficient movements. He won't look at Gerard anymore, the smile gone from his face. "I keep forgetting I'm just a substitute until they invent a machine that can make your sandwich exactly how you want it, instead."

Gerard shifts uncomfortably. "I'd rather have you make it. I mean-- a person, than a machine. Rather than." _Smooth, Gee._

Thankfully Frank just huffs a laugh, sliding the food along the counter to wrap it. "Thanks for covering for me. You didn't have to do that."

"I wasn't covering," Gerard says honestly. "You _are_ helpful. That guy's just an asshole. Figures his name is _Chad_."

Frank snorts and shushes him, glancing over his shoulder, but he's smiling again when he turns back to Gerard. "I know, right?" he says lowly. "It's just one of those names. Like, you hear it and you just _know_ that guy is a total douchebag. Like... _Trent_."

"Brad," Gerard says, and Frank shudders.

"Cliff."

"Preston," Gerard says, warming up to this game.

"Oh, shit. Lance."

"Carl."

"I - wait, what's wrong with Carl?" Frank splutters, and then they're both laughing so hard they have to cover their mouths, Frank ducking his head to hide his face behind his visor as he rings Gerard up himself. "Man, you're going to get me into trouble again."

"Sorry," Gerard says, but he doesn't really mean it. Well, of course he doesn't _want_ Frank to get into trouble, but he can't pretend Frank's laughter and smile isn't something he's relishing every second of. He's not sure where he gets the confidence to say, "But - hey, it could be worse. At least you don't have a douchey name."

"Three twenty-nine," Frank says, and Gerard rushes to extract his wallet from his jacket. "Yeah, I got no qualms with Frank. My dad's the senior version, but he's awesome, so I have no problem being named after him. What about you, then? You don't have a douchey name, do you?"

"Uh," Gerard says, handing the money over and trying not to flinch when his fingers brush Frank's palm. "I... hope not? It's Gerard."

Frank smiles, nodding. "Definitely not douchey," he says.

That's the nicest thing anyone's said to Gerard for a while. He stays in to eat this time, selecting a table by a window far away from the counter, resigned to the fact he's totally going to stare at Frank while he eats. As Gerard watches him, it becomes glaringly obvious how comfortable Frank is in his own skin. Gerard envies terribly the relaxed way he holds himself as he goes about his work, the easy words and smiles he exchanges with customers and his colleagues who aren't Chad. Seems like Frank's nice to everyone, really. Gerard shouldn't feel disappointed - like, no shit, a supremely hot, nice, funny guy isn't interested in him, what else is new - but he does.

That's another stupid thing Gerard's brain does. His brother calls it _getting carried away_ if he's being sympathetic, and _living in a fucking delusional fantasy world_ if he's not, which is most of the time. Personally, Gerard prefers to think of it as just exploring alternate dimensions. Like, dimensions where he's actually a normal human being; where he's completely in control and fulfilled and at least halfway attractive. The Gerard in that dimension wouldn't have a problem, here. He'd talk and flirt with Frank easily and Frank would inevitably fall under his spell and say yes immediately when Gerard asked him out and then they'd go on a date somewhere and maybe have sex afterwards and Gerard would be relaxed and fantastic through all of it and not feel scared or inadequate at all.

He just forgets, sometimes, that he doesn't actually live in that dimension. And that he never will.

*

"So, how's the new job going?"

Gerard's therapist is called Dr. Shepherd and she wears thick glasses and sits opposite him in an office straight out of _The Sopranos_. The brown leather couch is there. The tissues on the coffee table between them are there. On that show the therapist herself was in therapy, though - which Gerard never understood. If she had the tools to recognize what was wrong with her own brain, could she not just fix it herself? Maybe Gerard should have studied psychology instead of going to art school. Pretty much everyone had told him how pointless that was, but he didn't listen. Now this is his punishment, he supposes.

"It's okay."

"Just okay?"

Gerard shrugs. "Yeah, I mean. It's harder than I thought it would be, but - it's a proper job. Obviously it's not just gonna be the same shit I did at school."

Dr. Shepherd cocks her head. "Are you enjoying it?"

Gerard sighs. She always misses the point. "No one-- like, I'm starting right at the bottom, y'know? Of course I won't get to do what I really want straight away. You have to work your way up. Meet people, make connections."

"And how's that going for you?" Dr. Shepherd asks. Her tone is always irritatingly casual, free from any emphasis or accusation. "Making connections."

"Did they teach you how to speak like that in therapy class?" Gerard says primly. "We both know what you're trying to say, so just say it."

She smiles. "Gerard. If I just did all the work by myself, then there'd be no point in you being here, would there?"

Gerard scowls, slumping back in his chair. "It's only my second week."

There's a pause while she notes something down on her clipboard. Gerard hates that fucking thing. He hates knowing that there basically exists a bullet point list of all his flaws and failures that isn't in the safety of his own head. "Have you actually managed to start a conversation with anyone yet? Talked to someone even when it wasn't necessary?"

"You're still pushing that, huh."

She shrugs. "It's a thing I do."

Gerard hesitates. "I, uh. Talked to this guy in Subway, a couple of times."

Her eyebrows raise at that. "Oh? Another customer?"

"No," Gerard admits reluctantly. "He works behind the counter. But it wasn't just, like, ordering my food. We _talked_."

"About?"

"Just -" Gerard dithers. "Just things. Chatting, whatever. He has tattoos. His boss is an asshole." He really doesn't like the look Dr. Shepherd is giving him. "What."

"Do you know this man's name?"

Gerard looks down at the tissues, feeling his face heat. "Frank."

"And are you planning to speak to Frank again?" Gerard gnaws on the edge of his thumbnail and doesn't answer, but she hums like he said something after all. "Okay." He hears her write down something else. "Good. Well, I'm afraid we're out of time for today, Gerard, but I'll see you next week."

"God," Gerard says, burying his face in his hands. "Okay."

*

_"Y'know, I'm supposed to push the larger sizes and, like, ask if you want to make it a meal deal," Frank says as he scrabbles in the register for Gerard's change. "But - I dunno. It makes me feel kinda sleazy. Like a pushy car salesman or something."_

_"Don't worry about it," Gerard tells him. "I'm easy."_

_"Really?" Frank says after a beat, raising an eyebrow, and Gerard blushes so hard he almost drops his change as he scurries off to his table._

Honestly, Gerard would be fine if it weren't for Frank. He can cope with the discovery his new job isn't as great as he thought it would be; at this stage, he can live with just replicating and copying, instead of creating. But it's just-- it's hard to stay focused and motivated when you're watching a clock constantly, counting down the minutes until your lunch break. And he's totally fucking stupid, because he starts going pretty much every day. Frank acts pleased to see him every time, which is something Gerard really doesn't know how to deal with. He's obviously just glad to have a customer that actually goes for his beloved vegetarian option; Gerard can't imagine a lot of people do. He'd never say that to Frank, though.

_"I mean, it isn't my dream job or anything - that would be for my band to really take off - but in the meantime, right? I can think of worse places to work."_

_"It is nice," Gerard agrees. "I like the fact you can see it all. And the way it's so customizable. It's like... an experience."_

_"The Subway experience," Frank says reverently, grinning when Gerard laughs. "So thrilling you may have a heart attack. Come along and watch people make a sandwich. Any filling you want! No peppers or onions!"_

_"I'm having it my way," Gerard says earnestly, and Frank snorts, giggling._

_"That's Burger King, dude."_

_"Oh," Gerard says._

_Frank shudders. "I wouldn't work there if you paid me a million bucks."_

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, Gerard learns a lot about Frank. Some of which by actually asking him questions and talking to him, but the things he _really_ remembers are the things he learns by just watching. Frank's a gesturer, a hand-talker. He looks directly at your face when he's speaking to you (a skill Gerard really wishes he had) and chews on the edge of his bottom lip when he's focused on something. He's not the most disciplined with his uniform, pushing his cap back when he's not serving customers so his hair sticks up everywhere, and Gerard's pretty sure he's fucking covered in ink. He holds out for the times Frank's green polo shirt rides up or shifts _just so_ \- teasing flashes of all the art on his body that Gerard will never, ever get to see.

He doesn't last long at all before he gives in and starts taking his sketchpad to Subway with him. It's a risky business with Frank _right there_ , but he can't help it - when Gerard's watching him, his fingers itch for pencil and paper. He just tries to be careful, subtle; timing his looks up from the pad and not staring for too long. Frank knows where he works now, so he probably won't find it suspicious that Gerard's drawing. Most likely he'll think Gerard just brought his work to lunch with him.

God, he's such a creep.

Still, he hasn't had a sandwich with anything other than vegetables in it for almost a month. It all evens out.

"Yo, Gee," Frank says one day when Gerard arrives at the counter. "The usual?"

"Gee?" Gerard repeats dumbly, and Frank grins.

"S'that okay? I just figured you're definitely a regular now, so you need a nickname."

"Uh." Gerard's had a lot of nicknames in his time, most of them derogatory. "Yeah, my - my brother calls me Gee, sometimes." He's definitely not going to complain. Hearing it in Frank's mouth is kind of - yeah. Frank starts making his sandwich, the process familiar as anything now. "Do all your regulars have nicknames, then?" Gerard asks lamely.

"Only the ones I like," Frank says, finishing his line of sliced cucumber. He looks up and smiles. "Italian as usual? Or fancy a change?"

Gerard blinks. "You - uh, not a change. I mean." He waves a hand hopelessly, face heating.

Thankfully, Frank seems to understand Gerard's monkey-speak. He nods and drops his eyes back to Gerard's sub, which gives Gerard ample time to pretend his heart isn't thudding stupidly hard. _It wasn't a come-on, dipshit. He's just being nice, you fucking freak. Calm the fuck down, Jesus - this is why we never go anywhere._

"There we go," Frank says cheerfully, and when Gerard makes himself focus, Frank's already wrapped up his sandwich and slid it into the little plastic bag. "Sorry I can't ring you up myself today." He pulls a face, shooting a subtle glance towards the register, where Chad is pretty obviously leering at the girl stood there, leaning obnoxiously over the counter into her space.

Gerard pulls a face of his own. He barely resists the flinch when Frank suddenly leans forwards himself, closer to Gerard. "He does that with every single halfway good-looking chick that comes in here. _Every. Single. One._ It's fucking embarrassing. And he gives me shit for being unprofessional."

Gerard leans in a little too, trying to breathe normally, lowering his own voice to match Frank's. "Why - I mean. How are _you_ supposedly unprofessional?"

Frank rolls his eyes, cheek dimpling as his mouth twists a little. Gerard can't help but stare. Frank is so expressive. Gerard already knew that from watching him, but up close to his face like this, it's even brighter. Gerard can practically feel his disdain, the sarcasm in his tone when he says, "Because apparently having tattoos makes you anti-social scum. And, like, suggesting to people that _maybe_ they'd prefer a sandwich with no dead animals in it is _harassment_." He snorts, nodding towards Chad again. "But _that_ isn't harassment, obviously. That's totally fine. I mean, I'm definitely not the expert on women, but look; they're obviously not interested, yet he just won't quit. What a fucking _creep_."

"Total creep," Gerard agrees weakly. Wow, just let him die right here. "I'll just, um. Thanks." He picks up his sandwich and moves along before Frank can say anything else to make him feel like the most creepy, pathetic, generally embarrassing person that ever walked the earth.

He doesn't stay inside to eat. He just barely manages to fumble over the money to Chad before he's out of there, not even looking back to say goodbye to Frank.

*

In retrospect, he doesn't take it very well. Gerard is used to disappointment. He's used to making a fool of himself. You'd think it wouldn't be such a big deal anymore.

More than anything, though - more than the disappointment and the embarrassment and the familiar shitty feelings of various degrees and motive - he wholeheartedly resents the fact that he can't at least _feign_ apathy. He wishes he were one of those people, the kind that can feel something like Gerard does and yet still somehow betray nothing on the outside. The people that can walk around smiling and laughing and acting totally normal when inside, they're going crazy. Gerard would _love_ to just be able to swallow his anxiety and go back to Subway and smile and talk to Frank as usual and act like nothing was wrong, but unfortunately, he isn't one of those people.

"Pathetic," he tells his reflection. "I don't know how I fucking put up with you."

The bathroom door opens and someone Gerard vaguely recognizes comes in, gives him a weird look. Gerard coughs and turns a tap on, making out like he's washing his hands, until they disappear into a stall. God, he's not safe from his own stupidity even in here.

 _Pathetic_ , he mouths at himself in the mirror above the sink. Even if he weren't the biggest loser on the planet, he looks like fucking road kill. He hasn't been sleeping well recently, and it shows. His face is pale, round and sunken in around his eyes; stubble peppers his cheeks and jaw, and his hair is a wild, unkempt, tangled black mess. If he looks down, his chin doubles up. If he looks up, the shape of his nose makes him looks like a pig. Really, he should just put a bag on his head and solve the whole problem. Dr. Shepherd is always telling him that beauty if subjective, and how people see themselves is often incredibly distorted, especially if they're prone to be very self-critical and harbor feelings of self-loathing. Gerard is always telling her that just because he's prone to be very self-critical and harbor feelings of self-loathing, doesn't mean he doesn't look like fucking road kill.

The guy in the stall flushes and Gerard rushes to get out of the bathroom before he comes out. He sighs when he's sat back in his cubicle, looking grudgingly at his huge workload. He checks the clock. It's lunch time in five minutes. Right on cue, his stomach growls mournfully. "Shut up," Gerard mutters to it. He hasn't been to Subway for almost two weeks. He almost, _almost_ misses Frank's vegetarian sandwiches. Not nearly as much as he misses Frank himself, though.

"Oh, Gerard!" Steve says, suddenly appearing in Gerard's cubicle. "Glad I caught you. I'm gonna have to get those sketches by Friday now, I'm afraid."

"By _Friday_?" Gerard repeats weakly. He's pretty sure today is Wednesday, but he could be wrong. He often loses track.

Steve at least has the decency to look contrite. "Yeah. The meeting's been pushed up. Not my decision, for the record - but if you can manage it, that would be great."

Wow, he almost made it sound like a question. Like Gerard actually has a choice in the matter, or something. Gerard closes his eyes briefly, and then nods. "Yeah. Friday. Sure."

"Atta boy," Steve says cheerfully, clapping Gerard hard on the shoulder before he leaves. He's going to have a large bruise there later. Wincing, Gerard shifts through his pile of work until he finds the sketches he's been working on. Well, at least this gives him a reason to stay inside and work through lunch.

He's just shifting through the pages, putting them back in order, when something falls out from between them onto the floor. Gerard reaches down to pick it up, grumbling a little to himself, but he stops abruptly when he sees what it is. It's one of his own, a little doodle he does all the time on stray sheets of paper, the margin of his notes, the corners of his workbook pages. A little dude in a leather jacket, shit kickers and a distressed, graffiti-ed masquerade mask; shiny black hair with exaggerated height pushed back from his forehead, a jagged scar on his cheek, lip curled in a snarl around a drooping cigarette. A large, smoking pistol dangles easily from one of his gloved hands.

It's a character without any real story or concept - just something Gerard enjoys drawing - but he feels something now, looking at it. He's loosely sketched a background for this one, lines and a little light shading depicting something that looks like a bridge over a canal under the dude's feet, background all straight right angles of tall, thin buildings and dark scribbles of unlit passages in-between. There's a sense of menacing about it, as though danger were only around the corner, but Gerard's little dude stands fearlessly on his bridge, posture offensive, eyes narrowed behind his mask.

Gerard's stomach growls again. He sighs, and reaches for his jacket.

*

When he walks into Subway, Frank isn't behind the counter. There's only Chad, and a couple of others that Gerard recognizes but doesn't actually know the names of. A little taken aback, he doesn't realize he's stopped right in the doorway until a curt voice says, "Excuse me," from right behind him. Gerard jumps and hastily sidesteps out of the way, feeling his face heat as he mutters an apology. A quick scan of the place confirms Frank isn't around clearing tables, either. Maybe he's in the back, or maybe he just isn't in today. Maybe he's sick.

Gerard dithers on the spot, heart thudding. He's sure everyone is looking at him, wondering what the hell he's doing. Gerard wishes _he_ knew what the hell he's doing. He hadn't really had a plan past seeing Frank again and maybe, like... oh, who is he kidding? It's a nice fantasy, thinking that maybe he would have actually had the balls to tell Frank he's sorry for disappearing and that, you know, he really fucking likes him and would he maybe like to go out sometime, but--

"Hey," Chad suddenly calls, snapping Gerard back to reality. "Welcome back." Gerard blinks a little. Chad rolls his eyes. "Well, don't just _stand there_ , dude," he says, the _duh_ heavy in his tone. "Come on, I'll serve you."

Not knowing what else to do, Gerard approaches the counter. "Uh," he says, carefully wiping his palms on his jeans. "I just wanted--"

"You always have the rabbit food fest, right?" Chad interrupts, already starting to make it. It's nothing like how Frank does it - impatient and careless, practically throwing the vegetables onto the bread. "Man, I have no idea why this even a special. Not that I'm knocking you or anything, but I _really_ don't understand how anyone could be a vegetarian." He says _vegetarian_ like it's a dirty word - as though he were saying something like _Nazi_ , or _pedophile_.

God damn, this guy is a fucking douchebag.

"Actually," Gerard says, trying to swallow his nerves and steady his voice, "I was just wondering if--"

"I mean, at least have some cheese or tuna or _something_ on it, y'know?" Chad rambles on, picking up completely the wrong dressing and soaking the bread with it. "Not just a load of tasteless stodge in between two slices of bread."

"Look," Gerard says, irritated now. "I don't even want--"

"Like, vegetables are pretty much only there to enhance the meat or the fish or whatever, right? Who actually wants them on their _own_?"

"Lots of people, actually," Gerard snaps. "It's a little thing called personal taste."

Wow, that wasn't planned. Gerard didn't know he had it in him. Even Chad looks surprised, though it quickly morphs back into that expression he wears when he speaks to Frank, eyebrow raised and lip curled, scrunching up his face like Gerard is something deeply unpleasant he's trodden in. "Yeah, well, it doesn't matter anyway, because you're fighting a losing battle. Everyone is still going to eat animals no matter what you people do, because guess what? They just taste _too damn good_ , and everybody with half a brain knows it. That's why your hippie loser friend got fired, because nobody wants to hear your preachy nagging bullshit."

"I'm not even - wait, Frank got _fired_?" Gerard can't believe how angry he feels. It's not something he's used to feeling, at least not for anybody but himself. "Why?"

Chad snorts, wrapping up the sandwich and shoving it into a bag. "I just told you. Because he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut about his stupid frickin' vegetables and everybody was sick of hearing about it. Idiot didn't seem to realize harrassing customers isn't something that goes down well."

Gerard grits his teeth. "Was it you?" he asks, voice strangely even. "Did you fire him?"

Chad gives him the most smug, self-satisfied look Gerard has ever seen in his life. He doesn't think he's ever wanted to punch anyone in the face as much as he does this guy. "Why do you care? You got a big gay loser crush on him or something?"

The room has gotten significantly quieter. A few other workers have even stopped what they're doing to watch, expressions ranging from wary to openly entertained. Gerard's stomach feels tight and hot, but his hands are steady. "Maybe I do," he says boldly, shrugging defiantly when Chad titters. "Yeah, so what? Doesn't change the fact that you're a desperate, rat-faced douchebag who every single one of your employees and customers fucking hate. Like, wow, just because you've managed to claw yourself a tiny little bit of power you like to pretend you're something really fucking special now, right? But we both know that when you go home at night you're _still_ that pathetic sad sack of shit you were before you got this job - and everyone else here knows it, too."

The silence then is shocking. Gerard feels almost out of breath, adrenaline pulsing through every inch of his nerves. Chad is, apparently, lost for words. His face is a beautiful, furious red as his eyes dart from Gerard, to his employees, to the rest of the room; he seems to have only just noticed everyone is staring at them. Eventually, a guy coughs from behind Gerard, moving up to the counter next to him and speaking to the girl there, "Um, can I get a footlong on wheat, please?"

"Sure," she says. "Just a second." She shuffles over to Gerard, leans in and says quietly, "I, uh, heard that Frank's working at Domino's now. You know, over the road."

"Thank you," Gerard tells her. He leaves without another word, without looking back. When he gets outside he just about has the presense of mind to head down the sidewalk, until he's out of view of the Subway windows, before he lets out the huge breath he was holding in an overwhelmed, snorting huff. And then suddenly he's laughing so hard he has to lean against the wall, covering his mouth with both hands and ducking his head to hide his face from the passing people who are looking at him like he's crazy.

Gerard _feels_ crazy. He feels completely fucking loopy, almost drunk. He's never stood up to someone like that before. He's always had a policy of non-involvement with people like Chad, even when they would very purposefully set out to involve him whether he liked it or not. Speaking his mind - causing trouble, making things worse - is just something he never would have done. He most _definitely_ would never have deliberately drawn all of that attention to himself like he just did. Drawing attention to himself is kind of Gerard's biggest phobia. Christ, Dr. Shepherd is going to have a fucking field day.

Eventually, he manages to calm down enough to stand up straight, still giggling weakly as he turns his attention towards the Domino's across the road. His gut does this nervous little wiggle. He has absolutely no idea what he's doing, but he's going to do it anyway.

The Domino's isn't as big as the Subway inside, just the counter and a few tables. There's no missing or mistaking Frank as the dude currently wiping down one of them, bent over with his back to Gerard, even in the unfamiliar blue and red polo shirt. "Hey," Gerard says to the back of Frank's head.

Frank jumps a little, turning around. His eyes widen when he sees who it is, mouth splitting into a wide, gorgeous smile. "Oh, hi! Long time no see!"

"Yeah," Gerard says lamely, starting to raise his hand like a wave, before changing his mind and lowering it again, feeling foolish. "Uh, surprise?"

"It is! A very pleasant one, though."

"Yeah?" Gerard manages, feeling his face heat. He wants to say, _Why, did you miss me?_ but even now, he can't quite do it.

Frank nods, still smiling. "Yeah, dude. It's nice to see you again. Where you been?"

"Oh, y'know," Gerard says awkwardly. "Just - y'know, busy."

"Ah," Frank says.

There's an uncomfortable pause. "So, uh," Gerard says, "You're working here, now?"

Frank suddenly looks pissed. "Yeah, thanks to Chad. That asshole fucking _fired_ me. For being _vegetarian_. Can you believe that?"

"He's a piece of shit," Gerard agrees. "I think he knows that, though."

Frank raises an eyebrow. "Really? Because I always got the impression he thought he was God's fucking gift. It's the reason I'm working here. You know, helping the competition. Makes me feel like I'm flipping him off all the time, it's great."

"Frank?" A girl behind the counter calls. "Does he want serving?"

"Oh, no, thank you," Gerard answers for him. "I just, uh."

"You're not here for lunch?" Frank asks him. Gerard can only shake his head. Frank looks sort of confused, but he shrugs. "He was just saying hi," he tells the girl. She gives him a look. Frank sighs. "Sorry," he says to Gerard. "I better get back to work."

He turns to go, but Gerard's reaching out and touching his arm before he realizes he's going to. "Actually, I," he starts, and Frank stops, looks at him. Gerard feels his stomach tighten. "I just came from Subway," he hears himself say.

"Oh." Frank says. "Uh, okay."

"I wasn't there for lunch," Gerard stresses. Frank still looks blank. Gerard makes a frustrated noise. What's the point of language, really? Nothing ever comes out how he wants it to. "It's not - not an accident, me being here now."

"Gerard," Frank says, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't--"

"It's why I disappeared for a while," Gerard continues desperately. "Because I kind of - I mean, I have this thing, y'know? This stupid anxiety thing where I can't-- but I'm always running away, and I don't want to anymore, right? I don't want to let it control my life anymore, which is why I'm - here," he finishes lamely. He lets out a hard breath, gestures kind of hopelessly to the restaurant around him. "So, like, even if you don't want to it doesn't - I mean, even then, it's okay, because I still did this. For me."

"Whoa, wait," Frank says, holding up a hand. "What?"

"Frank!" The girl behind the counter barks, but Frank just flaps the hand at her dismissively, eyes intent on Gerard. "Even if I don't want to _what_ , Gee?"

 _Forget it_ , Gerard's mind whispers. _It's fine, never mind, doesn't matter, gotta go_ \-- "Go out with me," Gerard says. "Like, on a date."

"Yes," Frank says.

There's a pause. "Um, that wasn't meant to sound like an order," Gerard mutters.

"Iero, I swear to god--"

"Alright, _god_ , I'm coming!" Frank says exasperatedly, looking at Gerard apologetically. "Look, this isn't really the right place for this. Why don't you come and meet me after my shift is over? I finish at six."

"I - really? I mean, okay," Gerard gets out. He feels a little light-headed. "Yeah. Six. I'll be here."

Frank grins. "See you then."

Gerard finishes at five, but it's not like he really notices the extra hour he has to kill when all his remaining time at work just feels like an infuriating delay anyway. He's outside Domino's for ten past; he sits on a bench and smokes the remaining fourty minutes away, jittering his leg and tapping his foot against the sidewalk. He feels - different. Nervous and anxious, yeah, of course, but anticipatory, too. He actually did it. He asked Frank out, and _Frank said yes_. And just that little bit of knowledge, that golden nugget of complete and utter awesomeness, is enough to keep him from freaking out. Much.

"Hey," Frank's voice behind his ear almost startles him right off the bench onto the floor. He turns around and - wow. Frank's out of his uniform, wearing jeans and a t-shirt and a loose long-sleeved shirt over that, nothing special, except he looks _different_. Like, really different. Almost like anyone else, if Gerard didn't already know he _isn't_.

"Hi," Gerard manages. Frank smiles, easy and open, and Gerard's gut lurches - again. It's not entirely unpleasant now, though.

"Can I bum one?" Frank asks as he rounds the bench to sit next to him, nodding towards the cigarette Gerard forgot he was holding.

"Oh, sure." Gerard nods and hands him the pack. "I wasn't sure if you would - y'know. Approve."

"Oh, I approve," Frank says, producing a lighter from the pocket of his jeans. Gerard tries not to stare as Frank lights up and inhales deeply, closing his eyes as he exhales hard at the sky. " _Fuck_ yeah, I needed that. They don't let us go out to smoke, even on our breaks. It's bullshit."

"Total bullshit," Gerard agrees weakly. He drags hard on his own rapidly expiring cigarette, grateful at having something to do with his hands.

"I was waiting for you to ask me, you know," Frank says then, almost conversationally. "I mean, I would have asked you, but... I dunno, I wasn't sure we were on the same page. Thought maybe I was being too obvious, and that's why you ran away." Gerard gapes at him. He doesn't even know where to _start_ with that. Frank laughs at his expression. "Yeah, I'm glad I was wrong. But you said that you, uh." He trails off, obviously unsure how to word it.

Gerard sighs. With all the shit he's been through today, talking to Frank about what an epic loser he really is suddenly seems incredibly easy.

So Gerard tells him. He tells him about his anxiety, his therapist, his lame insecurities and the thoughts that plague him; the worries and the doubts that hold him back, and Frank listens. And when Gerard stutters or gets flustered or embarrassed Frank just waits, sometimes nudging him gently, prompting him to continue. He doesn't laugh, or judge, or even snicker. Not once. Well, not until Gerard starts to tell him about earlier today and his run-in with Chad, then he's laughing so hard passers-by on the other side of the street are looking over at them. Frank doesn't even seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn't care. Both options are hard to comprehend.

"Oh my god," Frank cackles delightedly. "That's fucking amazing. I wish I could have been there, just to see the look on his stupid piggy face."

"I think he looks more like a rodent, actually," Gerard says, grinning helplessly. He can't help it - Frank's laugh is infectious. Frank _in general_ is infectious.

Frank snorts happily. "Either way, it's an insult to pigs _and_ rodents. Man, you had some balls to say that shit to him. When he fired me I told him to go fuck himself, but now that just seems really lame in comparison to your epic burn."

Gerard shifts a little on the bench. "I've never really had balls before. I mean - uh, obviously I have balls, but--" Frank cracks up again, and Gerard can't help but laugh too, even as he feels himself flush. "See, this is why I never fucking talk to anyone."

"No," Frank gets out between giggles, and puts his hand over Gerard's. Gerard freezes, the world shrinking down around that contact, the warmth of Frank's palm over his knuckles. "You should," Frank says, a little more seriously. "You should always be yourself, Gee. I mean, we all say stupid things sometimes, but if you don't say anything at _all_ , how are you ever gonna find people you actually _want_ to talk to? Y'know, people who won't care that you say stupid shit. Maybe even people who _like_ your stupid shit. Like me." Gerard stares at him. Frank sighs and rolls his eyes a little, but he's smiling. "Okay, put it this way: if you hadn't ever talked to anyone, you wouldn't now have a date. See? It's worth it, in the end."

Gerard doesn't even know what to say. Heart thudding, he puts his other hand over Frank's and squeezes. Frank squeezes back, and then carefully pulls his hand away. "We're getting a few dirty looks," he says by way of explanation. And - huh, Gerard didn't even notice. "Come on, let's find somewhere to get a drink or something."

"I drew you," Gerard blurts out as they stand up. "In Subway. A few times."

Frank pauses, eyebrows raising. "Really?"

 _Oh, god._ "I'm sorry," Gerard stammers. "You were just--"

"No, dude, I'd like to see them," Frank says enthusiastically. "I've never had my portrait done by a real artist before."

Gerard thinks his face is probably hot enough to fry a fucking egg. "Oh my god, I'm not - I'm not even _close_ to being a _real artist_ , Frank, Jesus." But Frank just grins, nudging Gerard into step next to him as they walk away from the bench. "I don't even know what kind of artist I am, if any."

Frank hums. "That's okay. You'll figure it out eventually."

Gerard doesn't argue.

*

"--So, y'know, we're just taking it slow, I guess, but - yeah, we go out quite a lot after work. He took me to this bar, this one where he plays a lot - 'cause he has a band, did I mention?"

"Yes," Dr. Shepherd says. "Yes, I believe you did mention that. A few times, in fact."

Gerard waves a hand dismissively. "Well, yeah, anyway, he does, and he invited me to go watch them play this weekend--"

"Yes, I'm pretty sure you mentioned that, too," she cuts him off smoothly. Gerard can't help but grin.

"Sorry," he says, not meaning it. "It's just - I think I'm happy, y'know?"

She raises an eyebrow. "You think?"

Gerard looks down at his hands clapsed together in his lap. "Well. I don't really have a lot of... experience, with it. But I know I don't feel bad, anymore."

Dr. Shepherd is quiet for a long moment, and then she says, slowly, "And if things don't work out with Frank?"

Gerard knows what she's getting at. In all honesty, it worries him too - not just the thought of things not working out with Frank, but what that might mean for Gerard, after. "I don't know," he admits quietly. "A part of me thinks it would fuck me up even more than I already am. Like, it would only confirm for me all the shit I thought I knew, and I don't-- I don't want to put that sort of pressure on him, y'know? I don't want him to feel like he has to stay with me because I'll break down if he doesn't, and _I_ don't want to pin everything on him like that, either. I don't want my ability to be happy to depend entirely on someone else."

She says nothing. Gerard sighs. "But then, another part of me is just like - you know what? Fuck it. Because really, is this how I want to spend the rest of my life? Fucking - overanalyzing everything to the point I suck any possible enjoyment I could have had out of it? Like, yeah, maybe things won't work out, but at least I can say I did it, and at least I'll have known happiness, if only for a brief while, but I'd rather that than not at all - and at least then I won't have any fucking regrets, y'know? I'm just so fucking sick of feeling scared all the time. For once in my life, I just want to do something because it makes me fucking happy, and not think about it anymore than that. And to be honest, I don't think that's _unhealthy_ or _self-destructive_ at all."

"I never said it was," Dr. Shepherd says, finally, and Gerard snorts a little.

"Not yet, but you will. You've gone all quiet. That usually means you're about to tell me off."

"I'm quiet because I don't actually need to _say_ anything, Gerard." She's looking at him in a way Gerard's never seen before, almost _fondly_. "Effectively, you've just done my job for me. And when that happens, it usually means you're ready."

Gerard is stunned. "Ready?" he repeats. His throat feels suddenly tight.

She smiles. "To start _living_ , Gerard."

Gerard's breath catches, even as he laughs. "That is so fucking cheesy."

Dr. Shepherd just shrugs. "Well, maybe. Ready to go get into loud, verbal brawls in Subway, then - however you want to put it."

"Oh my god." Gerard laughs harder, burying his face in his hands. "Alright, okay."

She stands up, and Gerard does the same. She walks him to the door, opening it for him. "Just one more thing," she says. "Make sure you tell him you don't like the vegetable sandwiches. When I first met my husband I made out I really loved sushi just because he did - I just wanted to impress him, you know? But now we eat it _every damn week_ and I don't have the heart to tell him I can't stand the stuff. So, yeah. Tell Frank now, before it's too late."

Gerard stares at her. And then he leans in, pulling her into a hug. "Thank you," he says. "For everything."

"You're very welcome," she says, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "And good luck. Remember I'm always here, if you need me."

Outside, Gerard has to take a moment to get himself together. If he concentrates, he doesn't feel that different. Walking down the street, he's still conscious of the people around him, of his own body and hands and feet; there's still that niggling little feeling in his gut, that swell of nerves and anxiety when he thinks about things. But now there's something else there, too - something that puts a smile on his face even before he extracts his phone from his jacket and scrolls down to the contact named _Frank !!!!_

"Hey," he says. "Yeah. No, I'm fine. Yeah. Listen, I just have to tell you something, okay?"


End file.
